Where Darkness Dwells (36 page)

For the first time since his disappearance, Jimmy seemed faraway. This made Jacob feel guilty as all get out, but he couldn't help it. He also couldn't help watching Mary flit about the yard as she kept an eye on the children brought along by the neighboring adults. A dozen kids, from barely walking, to a few years younger than Mary, were chasing each other, crying out in laughter and full of merriment. He realized the oldest kids were close to his own age. If they were so carefree and as riotous as any group of kids, why was he so preoccupied with Mary, a girl he didn't even know?

Every time Mary would look toward the window--her tousled blonde hair pulling loose from her braids by the children climbing on her--his question was answered. She was laughing and ebullient. Every time they shared a glance, his chest pulsed with heat and he would break eye contact with her. He still didn't know how to handle this situation. God, he missed Jimmy. He would put everything right.

"We're all done setting up." His mom's voice startled him. He stammered defensively, but she motioned him silent. "We just need to finish up with the food. Why don't you have some fun?"

Next, his mom would say something about Mary Wilmot, and without a doubt this something would be embarrassing. So many people were mingling in the kitchen; Mrs. Nightingale, the town's worst gossip, Miss Sinclair, his grade school teacher, the Nagys enjoying glasses of mulberry wine with their six kids out of their hair outside, and still others all becoming one blurring mass. Jacob felt like jumping through the window to safety.

Before she could get a word out, the front door opened and the Banyon's entered. The crowd swept them in, the women doting on Ellie, commenting on what a pretty dress she wore. Mr. Banyon motioned Jacob over to him.

"Boy, can you lend me a hand out at the wagon?"

Gratefully, he escaped outside, following Mr. Banyon to his mule-drawn wagon. He half-expected to find bottles of liquor in the wagon bed. He'd forgotten about the oak hutch.

Mr. Banyon had wrapped it in old blankets to secure it for the ride over. "Careful now. That's a five-coat finish, and the best I've done so far, if I do say so myself." Mr. Banyon stepped into the bed and slid the hutch to the edge where Jacob waited. It was heavy as blazes getting it off the wagon and through the front door, but hearing the townsfolk's appreciative cries as they set the piece down made it worth the effort.

His mom didn't say anything, at least nothing Jacob could hear. Once Mr. Banyon pulled the blankets away to show off the hutch's golden finish, he explained the whats and the whys of his gift. She hugged him. As they embraced, it looked like she was crying on his shoulder, but then Jacob could tell that she was whispering into his ear, giving him her thanks. Just like that, the townsfolk accepted Charles Banyon back into their fold, and just as quickly, acted as if his years of foolishness had never happened. Cash flowed at a mere trickle within the town of Coal Hollow, but within an hour, half a dozen people solicited his carpentry skills.

With Ellie happy about the drastic change in her father, and the rest of Coal Hollow setting aside their previous impressions of Mr. Banyon, Jacob decided he would withhold his judgment.

13.

Jacob lounged under the canopy of a tall shade tree a ways off from the house after finishing his second supper. The Fowler's house was modest, built for efficiency rather than large gatherings, so three makeshift tables had been set up outside to showcase the day's bounty. The white and red checked tablecloths snapped in the wind. People came, loaded plates, idling like grazing animals.

Just now feeling like he could move without bursting a gut seam, he couldn't remember a day when he'd eaten more. Fried chicken, lemony-seasoned catfish, roasted potatoes drowned in sweet butter, two slices of tart rhubarb pie, a slice of his mom's peach cobbler, cucumber salad with vinegar dressing, and more side dishes than he could count. Mrs. Nightingale brought along her cornbread, and though widely considered her best dish, Jacob didn't even give it a sniff out of deference for Greta. He had nothing against Mrs. Nightingale, and anyway, he was certain no one would notice his silent protest.

Raucous laughter shook the house. The wine had flowed since noon, and now it was getting on to evening with the sun falling from its highest point. Mr. Hauser had started to play his fiddle--his enthusiasm for the instrument far outweighing any natural ability. Even so, people were stomping their feet to the beat and clapping along. Jacob could see heads bouncing, hair lank with sweat, as people danced passed the open windows.

The kids stayed outside. Some reclined while recovering from too much food, others were tumbling and stumbling their way across the yard, working off their energies chasing one another.

A group of older girls had gathered around Louise, while children under their care played at their feet. Despite her discomfort, Louise seemed to enjoy the attention. She only needed to intimate a need--more cucumber salad, a cool cloth to place on the back of her neck--and one of her attendants would see to it. She had become a local celebrity of a sort. She was an anomaly. A young, unmarried pregnant woman not living with her family or future spouse. Even so, she had been welcomed to her neighbors' bosom. His mom had been right all along.

Three boys were playing a game of marbles in a dirt patch near the barn. Others were splashing in the creek out past their stand of peach trees. From the sound of it, they were hounding bullfrogs out from under the grassy overhang lining the steep shoreline.

Jacob was content right where he was. Everyone seemed so happy, but to him, it felt hollow. He couldn't go along with it any longer; from now on, he would stay out of it. Day in day out he had to nod and agree with his mom about Jimmy's whereabouts. It pained him to celebrate today when his brother was somewhere close. He wished he could switch places with him, no matter where he was or what was happening to him.

Slumping lower at the base of the tree, comfortable and full, drowsiness nearly overtook him. But then he saw Mary Wilmot walking in his direction. Yet a ways away, her delicate hands toyed with a blade of grass. She was alone, and no one else was near Jacob. He was her intended target, he realized. Her
intended
.

Before she could get too close, he quickly stood and returned to the house. He nodded in her direction without looking, kept walking, his heart beating faster. At the back door, Cooper was leaning against the frame, sipping iced tea.

"That was a close one." Cooper's eyes were clear and contemplative. He seemed to be one of the few sober adults.

"Yeah. I guess."

"Seems like a nice girl."

Jacob didn't say anything. Mary returned to the group of girls. Ellie and a group of the younger ones were playing tiddly winks. Mary looked disappointed at his hasty retreat, but not overly so. Louise sat on a tree stump, rubbing her belly and looking uncomfortable. Mary briefly chatted with her before they turned their attentions to the children playing in the grass.

"My advice, girls are confusing, at any age. Keep a hold of your wits, or one is liable to take possession of them."

Jacob didn't want to talk about Mary, or about girls in general. Not with Cooper. He didn't want to go inside either. As if on cue, his mom let off a loud peal of laughter, and now he certainly didn't want to go inside. He considered returning to the shade tree, but thought better of it.

Cooper took a long drink of iced tea. The melting ice chips clinked as he drained it.

Jacob saw an opportunity and went for it. Maybe he didn't need to leave home to learn about Cooper's role in Jimmy's discovery. The man was standing right in front of him. "Want another?"

Cooper nodded, handing the empty glass to the boy.

As Jacob entered the house, his mother stepped out, her cheeks flushed crimson, the remains of laughter perking the corner of her lips.

"Why, hello, Mr. Cooper."

"Oh, hi, Jane. Nice day. Great food."

"Thanks. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. I just needed some fresh air." She blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes. Her hands were on her hips as she scanned the children carousing across the yard. Seeing her so carefree and relaxed, Cooper could see a glimpse of the girl she was before the responsibilities of adulthood stole the last of her childhood.

A roar of laughter came from inside as the music stopped. Too-loud voices engaging in several conversations at once filled the silence.

"Yeah." Cooper laughed. "Everyone seems to be having a fine time."

Certain that the children were behaving themselves, she turned back to Cooper, smirking. "That would be Dr. Thompson's mulberry wine. He brought along two cases." Jane fanned herself with her palm in an effort to cool. "I didn't have any myself."

"Didn't I see you with a wine glass?"

"You caught me. That was just a prop. I'm not much of a drinker, but I didn't think I could enjoy myself if I didn't at least appear otherwise. Besides, Mr. Cooper, the day isn't about me. It's about Louise. Family. Community."

Before an uncomfortable silence could settle on their conversation, Jacob stepped outside with a tray with three glasses of tea. He gave one a piece to his mom and Cooper, and then took the last for himself.

"Thanks, dear. I was getting parched. Why don't you go off with the other boys. Me and Mr. Cooper are talking."

Jacob looked upset having so quickly been cast aside. Cooper was surprised at Jane's forwardness. He had planned on staying just as long as it took to have his drink, and then take off for home. He was beginning to feel the familiar pull of the Blankenship home. They wanted him home.

The boy gulped some tea before returning it to the tray. He slinked away toward the splashing sounds coming from the creek. They watched him leave before continuing. "Now, Mr. Cooper--"

"Jane, please call me Ted, or Coop. My dad is Mr. Cooper."

"Fine, Ted. Thanks for coming. We're not so bad, are we?"

"No, not so bad."

They both laughed, their eye contact lingering.

"Jacob's a great kid. I've seen how he is with Ellie."

"It's been tough sometimes, but you're right, he's a great kid. Both of my boys are."

"Children are a direct reflection of their parents. It's admirable, you taking on all that yourself."

"It wasn't by choice, trust me. I married Dwight a month shy of my sixteenth birthday. Jimmy came along a year later. I was so young when Dwight passed, I didn't know I was in over my head until the boys had grown and it didn't matter."

Cooper was doing the math in his head while trying to pay attention to what Jane was saying. Thirty-two. Jane Fowler was thirty-two.

A couple stepped outside, surprised at how dark it was getting. If memory served from his earlier introduction, their name was Nightingale. They were farmers. Mr. Nightingale used to also work in the Grendal mines before they shut down. He still carried a nasty miner's cough, and tended to hack away when he laughed, but he didn't seem put out by it. They seemed like a nice enough family.

"Children?" Mrs. Nightingale asked Jane. She leaned against her husband for both comfort and balance.

"I just saw the girls running around down by the barn. Ralph is probably down by the orchard with the other boys collecting lightning bugs."

"Thanks. Wonderful evening." At that, the Nightingales went to search for their kids. When they were off a ways, Mr. Nightingale growled into his wife's ear. She gave off a girlish shriek and scampered away.

Cooper, regaining the thread of their conversation, said, "Fifteen is awfully young to be marrying."

"I know, I know. One of the hardest things in life is to tell love to wait. Sometimes it hits so strong. When you're young, you just can't help it. I wouldn't do anything different, well, besides…"

After a moment's pause, Cooper chimed in, "Dwight?"

Her eyes drifted to the yard, the distant trees, seeing, but not taking anything in. "I've had years to think on it. I would've put my foot down. Not let him go." She turned to him, and her eyes were glassy, intense. "He was a few years older than me, but he seemed to know so much more. At the time, I didn't think I could convince him to stay, if push came to shove. Instead, he convinced me that the world needed him to join the fight. Since then I've realized that all he was was a scared boy. He ran instead of facing a life working in the mines."

"Sometimes it's hard to change a person's mind."

"Oh, I know. You can't change the past. I just sometimes wonder if Dwight would've stayed the same happy-go-lucky man I married if he wouldn't have gone. He was a changed man when he came home. Not just physically. He was weak and prone to pneumonia--that's what eventually took him from this world--but his mind had changed, too. I believe to this day his mind came back more damaged than his body."